


All We Wanted

by Wrenlet



Category: Queer as Folk (US)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2003-08-29
Updated: 2003-08-29
Packaged: 2017-10-03 12:51:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 903
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18281
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wrenlet/pseuds/Wrenlet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Brian and Michael are young, silly, and quite stoned.</p>
            </blockquote>





	All We Wanted

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired, aaaaages ago, when [](http://madamblue.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://madamblue.livejournal.com/)**madamblue** posted "Analogies and Metaphors Found in High School Essays." *wears Dork badge proudly*

Steve's garage stank like old cigarettes. Okay, that at least made sense, since Steve smoked and his parents smoked and well... _all_ of the kids who used Steve's garage for various purposes smoked. Something. So Michael decided that yes, the stale-cigarette smell made sense.

Brian, on the other hand, made no sense at all.

This was some really fucking good weed.

"Look, Mikey, just listen to me: you can't look at it. You'll go blind if you do, and then they'll probably make you go do public service announcements or some shit, 'Don't look at the eclipse or you'll go blind, just like me!'" Brian let his voice trail up into a falsetto, and his hands flapped around his head like a pair of demented birds.

He looked like an idiot. He looked beautiful. But Michael still couldn't stop laughing.

"But... how...." He held out his hand for the joint again -- too comfortable sprawled in the floor next to their guitars to go get it -- and dissolved into helpless giggles when Brian jerked it up out of his reach. "How... can you _see_ the eclipse... if you can't look at it?"

Brian gave in and handed him the roach clip, and his teeth flashed white through his grin. "That's. What I've. Been trying. To tell you." He settled forward a little, dragged long fingers through his bangs and rested his elbows on his knees. Uh-oh. Brian was going to Explain it to Michael now. He should probably try not to giggle.

"You take the box, right, and you poke a hole...." Brian's explanation went on, but he'd lost Michael again. Or, rather... Michael just wasn't listening to the words anymore, because Brian was gesturing with his hands, turning his imaginary box up on its side, and his hands had all of Michael's intoxicated attention.

"... you know, they told us all this in school." At rest, Brian's hands dangled casually off his knees, fingertips not an inch from the floor. "And they told us the same thing the last time there was an eclipse... and the time before _that_."

Michael grinned sheepishly. "I guess I wasn't listening?" Brian laughed, because he always laughed when Michael's eyes went all wide and he said something like a question when it shouldn't have been. "And anyway, it's not like we're gonna be in Alaska to see it. Not see it. Whatever...."

"Ooooh, Mikey. What're we gonna do with you?" Still laughing, Brian leaned forward until he rolled over, rolled until his body came to a natural stop up against Michael's, his back to Michael's chest. Michael's arm -- just as naturally -- wrapped around his best friend's waist. "No more drugs for you, young man."

"It sorta went out."

That made Brian laugh again. Lots of things made Brian laugh when he was stoned, usually things Michael did or said... and somehow when he got to that stage, he always ended up in Michael's arms. Michael wondered sometimes why it wasn't the other way around; Brian was taller, so he should've been the one doing the holding, right? Well, whatever. Michael couldn't really argue with something that felt so nice, even if he could barely stretch his neck enough to look over Brian's shoulder these days. Brian's body stopped shaking against his, finally, the last of his chuckles released with a small sigh.

"How'd you get Steve to let us use his garage for practice?"

"Traded him a couple of back-issue Aquamans. Where'd you score the pot?"

Brian looked over his shoulder at Michael and arched an eyebrow. "Trade _secret_." Michael could almost hate him for that look, that looked so _good_ on him and so stupid on Michael when he tried it against his mirror at home. Only he could never hate Brian. Not ever. So he smiled at him instead.

Brian smiled back, and then just like that Michael could see his brain switch gears again: last stage, coming down. "That bridge is still for shit."

Michael sighed. "Yeeeah, I know. I just can't keep up with you on those chord changes."

"You could if you put in more time on it." He nudged Michael with his shoulder, rocking them both back a little, and his voice was earnest and encouraging. "You _can_ do it. I have faith in you, Mikey. You just gotta... get there."

"Okay, okay. I can... practice at home, I guess, if I don't plug in. If Ma doesn't mind." He was waffling, he knew it; Michael just didn't want to think too hard about what it'd mean if he did practice and still couldn't keep up with Brian.

"You gotta be serious about this if we're gonna do it, Mikey. You do want to, right? Want to do something... get out of Pittsburgh, be someone... someone people know on sight. Someone _everyone_ remembers."

Michael mumbled and nodded against Brian's shoulderblade, "Yeah, sure I do."

"Yeah." Brian was nodding, too, gone solemn and quiet as he stared over at the shitty little amp they shared. Michael could feel him shift slightly, and then his long fingers were toying with the fraying edge of Michael's cuff. It wasn't quite like holding hands, but it was enough for Michael. All of it was just... enough.

Michael knew that Brian would get what he wanted, that he would do "something," some day. Something big. But all Michael really wanted was to be there when he did.


End file.
